


Mashup - Drabble Collection

by rocksalt_rifle (trismegistus)



Series: Fullmetal Alchemist/Supernatural Mashup [45]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 14,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2186706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trismegistus/pseuds/rocksalt_rifle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collecting all the short FMA/SPN mashup fic I've posted on tumblr/typetrigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. broken spirit

Sometimes all it took was the road open before him to make things right again. Ed drummed one hand on the steering wheel, the other braced in the window well. He had cranked the window down all the way, it was a good excuse to avoid conversation on the highway. The end of his ponytail flapped violently behind him, his bangs moving constantly. Al was sprawled in the seat beside him, chin in hand as he stared morosely out the passenger side window. It felt - not back to normal, (although normal was relative in their line of work) but still felt right. Despite all their quarrels, despite the fractures that ran through their relationship like a busted windshield, they were still a team. They were still family. That was all that mattered.

Neither brother spoke a word until lunch, when Ed was pulling off the highway to stop a small trucker’s stop. It was a greasy spoon, not even a chain restaurant of some kind, just Ed’s favorite kind of off-the-map burger joint. Alphonse pushed a fry around in ketchup while Ed inhaled his burger, and said finally - “Are we doing the right thing?”

Ed hesitated. He put his burger down and sighed. “Al, that’s a piece of shit question to ask and you know it.”

Al pursed his lips into a thin flat line and looked down at his plate. He was fortunately saved from further introspection by Ed’s cell phone ringing. Ed stared at his little brother a long moment, before flipping open his (admittedly ancient by today’s tech) cell phone.


	2. central power

Winry came running out of the door of the bar as soon as the Impala pulled into the lot. Ed was already getting out of the car, and he glanced across the top of the car at his brother, grinning in barely-disguised relief. “See?” he said. “Told ya we’d find her at the roadhouse.”

He held out his hands to Winry, who did not slow her step. “Hey, missed you t-“

Al winced at the very solid sound of fist meeting flesh, and watched as Winry dropped Ed with a straight-on punch. He thought about going for his gun, just to be safe - there was no telling who was out to get them at any given time - but the look Winry gave him made him stay solidly put. “You all right, bro?” he called instead, unable to see Ed from his position.

"God FUCKING dammit!" Well, at least Ed was still conscious. That was always a start.

Winry turned her fury on Ed, full blast. “WHAT DID YOU SAY!?”

Ed pulled himself to his feet, one hand cupped over his now-bleeding nose. “Huh?”

"What did you SAY when you walked out that door?" Winry had both hands on her hips and looked fit to kill. Ed glanced over the car at his brother, puzzled, and Al just shrugged, showing his hands. 

Slowly, it dawned on Ed. “I’ll … be right back?”

"I’LL BE RIGHT BACK." Winry sounded like a thunderstorm. "HOW LONG AGO WAS THAT, ED?"

It was now all Al could do to contain his mirth at his older brother’s predicament. “Uh…” Ed did not look too sure. “Seven… seven months?”

Fire blazed in Winry’s blue eyes. “Seven. Goddamned. Months,” she hissed. “Seven months without a bye or leave, without me knowing if you were dead in a ditch somewhere! Changed your fucking phone number, dropped off the goddamn map - if I find out you were fucking around with Mustang at all I am going to wrap your ballsack around your NECK.”

Ed stared solidly at Winry as she crossed her arms over her chest, fuming. “Are you through?” he asked.

She glared at him. “Mostly. If you ever send your angelic butt-buddy into my roadhouse again, I will use his pinion feathers to stuff my pillows. Capice?”

Al raised his eyebrow, and Ed glanced over at him. “You’ve seen Cas?”

"Well, yeah." Winry’s brow was furrowed. "Didn’t you send him here to check in?"

Al shook his head, answering for them both. “We haven’t seen Cas in months, Winry. What did he say?”

She looked around. Though the roadhouse sat off a two-lane highway, the road was mostly empty. The few cars in the dirt parking lot looked that way as well, but one could never be sure. “Inside,” she said, inclining her head back toward the building. Al nodded, and Ed tilted his head back, pinching his nose shut in the vain hope of stemming his nosebleed.

The roadhouse had been in the Rockbell family for years. It was a common gathering place for hunters from all paths of life. The bar was dim, a few men wearing truckers’ hats sat on stools, giving Ed and Al the hairy eye s they walked in behind Winry. “Friendly bunch,” Ed muttered, mostly under his breath.

She took them into a small room off the bar. It was marginally brighter, with a large, covered window and painted symbols on the walls. Ed and Al glanced a weather eye over the place, it was covered in wards from floorboards to devil’s trap painted on the ceiling. Winry walked right back out the door, leaving Ed and Al alone for a moment. Al shook his head and looked mournfully at his brother. “I can’t believe that you didn’t tell Winry where you were going.”

"I forgot," Ed said. "In my defense there was a lot of shit going on." He tilted his head back further. "Goddamn she’s got a hell of a punch. It’s a wonder my nose ain’t broke."

"You don’t tilt your head back for a nosebleed," Al said. "You lean forward." He walloped his brother on the back, and Ed leaned forward, coughing suddenly. However, only a few drops of blood splattered from his nose. "Told you," Al said smugly as Ed rubbed his sleeve back and forth over his nose.

Winry reappeared with a bottle of Jack and three glasses, which she set on the low coffee table that sat between the two couches. “Before we get down to business,” Al said. 

"Already taken care of," Winry said, nodding at the bottle. "All of our stock is laced with holy water. Gotta keep some things just between the locals."

"Clever," Al said as Winry placed a shot glass before him. Al knocked back his shot with no complaint. Ed eyed his a moment more - just long enough for Al to get that warning buzz in his stomach - and then downed his. Winry watched them closely for a second, before taking her pull straight from the bottle.

"Okay," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "So what do you fucks want with me?"

"What did Cas say to you?" Ed asked, frowning sourly. "He’s been AWOL for a while, we don’t have any idea what is going on."

"He warned me that you to chuckleheads were gonna show up," Winry said. "Aside from that, didn’t want much else. Scared the fuck out of a few regulars, no one around here is used to random visits from celestial beings masquerading as used car salesmen."

"I am sorry," Ed said suddenly. Both Winry and Al looked at him, startled, and Winry reached forward, laying the back of her hand across Ed’s brow. "Hey!" Ed said, knocking away her hand.

She looked at Al. “He doesn’t appear to have a fever. Anything you know of that can resist holy water and still possess someone?”

"Do angels count?" Al said.

"Nope."

"Then, not off the top of my head."

"Dammit," Ed snapped. "Can’t a guy apologize without everyone having a conniption fit?"

"Where you’re concerned?" Al said. "Nope."


	3. last time

Roy Mustang cracked the door open and peered blearily out into the daylight. He looked at the two blond men who stood on his doorstep, and then firmly shut the door. “Nope.”

"Oh, come the fuck ON, Mustang!" Edward Elric yelled through the closed door, before making a fist and pounding it against the front door hard enough to shake it. "Open up!"

"Go away!"

Alphonse took a step back, his arms crossed over his chest. “What the hell did you do THIS time?” he asked.

Ed glared back at his younger brother. “What makes you think this is my fault?”

Roy hauled the door open, catching Ed mid-knock. He pointed at Ed accusingly. “YOU are supposed to be dead, and YOU-” he pointed at Al and frowned. “I don’t even know what you’re supposed to be. Dead too, I think. I don’t know. Don’t care. Don’t want any.” Roy slammed the door again, and Ed dropped his hand and sighed heavily. Al shook his head.

"We should go," Al encouraged gently.

"Go wait in the car, Al," Ed said without turning around.

"Brother." Al’s tone made Ed look back at him. "We don’t have time for this, you know that."

Ed looked at his hands, and then back at the door. “Give me five minutes, and we’ll go. Just - just, wait in the car, okay?”


	4. gaping chasm

Ed laid on his side in bed, one hand under the pillow, and listened to his brother move around the room. It was not hard to feign sleep - there were pretty even odds that Al knew he was awake and faking it anyway - but Al did not stop to check on Ed. He got dressed in a hurry, and hesitated only a moment, before Ed heard the door to the motel room they shared open and shut firmly. He counted to thirty, silently, before lifting his head and looking around the room. Al was most definitely gone - and he had not taken the car.

He thought that they were past this bullshit. Ed swung his legs out of bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, angry with himself for not confronting Al before he left. Al was a big boy now, he was allowed to make his own decisions - even if they were stupid, fucked up decisions - but they really could not afford to waste time on whatever petty bullshit reason that the two of them had invented to fight over. He was tired of it all … they spent more time apart than together, now - their ability to function as a team was beginning to suffer for it. He groped for his pants on the floor and pulled out his cell phone, opening the contacts list. 

(There were so few people on that list now. So many fallen by the wayside, even more bridges they’d burned.)

It was a silly impulse to dial Al’s number, and he hesitated, flipping through the few contacts that remained instead. A few still were listed despite the numbers going nowhere - he hesitated over Mustang’s number.

Roy had every right to be pissed at him. He had not planned on things going that way, or going south, or dropping off the grid for the better part of a year. The two people he held in closest esteem (outside of his brother, of course) were so angry with him that they did not want to have any contact at all. It had taken a lot of wheedling to get Winry back on their side. Roy still would not even talk to him. 

Ed swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and threw the phone on the bed beside him. No one had ever said that this life was going to be easy, or that it was going to be worth it in the end. But someone out there had to stand against the darkness, and unfortunately that job had fallen to them.

The door clicked and Ed looked up in surprise as Al walked right back through the door, a sack of cheap greasy burgers from a 24-hour place down the strip in one hand. He hesitated, seeing Ed sitting up in the semi-darkness. “Something happen?” Al asked, taking his key from the lock and kicking the door shut behind him.

"Nah," Ed said. "Couldn’t sleep."


	5. tarnished

Ed kept his elbow in the passenger side window, his arm propped so that his hand rested against the side of his head, his fingers tapping slowly against his temple. Al drove silently, his eyes on the road ahead, the radio spitting out some random classic rock station because neither of them could settle on a station and this was the one that held the least amount of eye-rolling for all involved.

He was tired, otherwise he never would have let Al drive. He was tired a lot these days, a lot more than he used to be. It was unsettling, this exhaustion that pulled at his bones and settled against the back of his eyes, heavy and intoxicating. He hadn’t told Al - (what was there to tell, he could hear Al now, ‘let’s stop at an emergency room somewhere, this isn’t right, it isn’t natural-‘) - but what was an emergency room doctor going to do? Exhaustion was exhaustion, even if he had the sneaking suspicion that there was more to it, than that.

Maybe he should call Roy - but that would be admitting to it, that he was worried. Roy had taken over research duties, his spare bedroom converted into a library, with as many salvaged books of lore and ancient tomes as the Impala could carry. Others too had moved in and out of their circle of influence. Roy was pretty much the only constant these days; he would try to call Winry, but she didn’t return his calls with the frequency that she used to. The Elric curse was at it again.

(At least Roy appeared to be immune.)

(So far.)

Ed closed his eyes, the comforting rumble of blacktop underneath them, the faint smell of exhaust and fuel, and the sun beating through the windows - this was home, he was safe and comfortable here, and he could succumb to sleep.

But he didn’t sleep. It was more a fugue, a comfortable numbness that eclipsed his exhaustion as he replayed the events of the past few days. The kid had called them again; his translations took time, a lot of time, but they were more troubling than ever. Apparently there were five principle Gates; and the tablet - what was left of the tablet - only gave the names of three. The other half, Crowley’s half, held the names of the others.

"Five Gates?" Al’s voice had gone to incredulous. "Not just one, five?"

"Gate of Hell, we knew that already," Rian’s voice was tinny through the phone line. "Gate of Limbo-"

"You mean Purgatory," Ed’s voice had gone rough, and there was a pause and some static through the cell phone line. Where was the kid hiding at now, some underground bunker?

"I don’t think that’s right," Rian said. "Purgatory, Limbo - those are two different things, Ed."

"What’s the third gate," Al asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the most useful tidbits. 

"That’s the thing," Rian said. "I’m not sure. The word is cut off, all I get are the first three symbols. It doesn’t directly translate, but I think…" he trailed off, and Ed and Al exchanged looks.

"You think…?" Ed prompted.

"I think it says "Truth"," the prophet said. "But I … that doesn’t make any sense, Truth isn’t a place, not like Hell or Limbo. I’m probably wrong."

"We’ll only know for sure when we get the other half of the tablet," Ed said. "Damn it, we’ll get it out of the hands of that squirrely bastard."

Rian had disconnected then; he didn’t have very much else to give them and he clearly wasn’t all that keen on catching up with then both. Ed turned his face in toward his palm and yawned, not bothering to stifle it.

Al said, without looking at him, “if you’re tired, you should just sleep, brother.”

"S’not that simple," Ed muttered, resting his face against his hand again. "Besides, I slept a good four, five hours last night. I don’t need another nap."

Ed did not miss that Al rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t bring it up. “So where are we headed?” Ed asked, his eyes safely closed against the bright winter sun. “Going to a secret Valentine’s rendezvous with your estranged sweetheart?”

"Are you sure you’re comfortable using that many multi-syllable words in a single sentence?"

"Dude," Ed complained. "Totally uncalled for."

"Then don’t bring it up," Al said, a heavy edge to his voice.

Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Fair enough,” he said finally. 

Their lifestyle was not conducive to long-lasting relationships. They both knew that, and yet they tried anyway. Alphonse’s sweetheart had gone back home to China, called home by her family. Perhaps the engagement had been called off … maybe it hadn’t been, but losing such a talented exorcist from their extended stables had been a bad loss.

And then of course there was the fact that Ed had managed to somehow blow his relationship with Winry, who was possibly the single most tolerant female hunter on the face of the planet. Ed had even managed to fuck that up, although he wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was actually to blame. All the same, Ed Elric was currently persona non grata as far as Winry Rockbell was concerned. Hell, it was a miracle Roy still talked to him.

Seemed like it was bound to be a cold and lonely valentine’s day for them both this year. Ed yawned again, and this time caught Al watching him. “What?” he muttered muzzily, and Al reached over, pressing his hand against Ed’s forehead. Ed batted his hand away angrily, but lacked the strength to do so effectively, and Al placed his hand on Ed’s forehead, somehow not even letting the car waver a bit.

"You are burning up," Al said decisively.

"I’m not sick," Ed said, finally removing Al’s hand from him. Al made a noise and moved the car over a few lanes, heading for an exit with a clearly marked motel. "I’m just a little tired."

"If you’re not sick, I’m the Queen of England," Al said sharply. "Dammit Ed, why didn’t you say something earlier?"

"Not sick," Ed protested weakly.

Al shook his head, both hands on the wheel as he took them down the exit ramp. “Good thing we weren’t headed on toward a secret romantic rendezvous anyway,” he said. “Because you’d be fucking up our schedule.”

"Haha, fuck you," Ed said.

"Ed?" Al asked.

"What?"

"Go the fuck to sleep."

Ed resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Al and closed his eyes, resting his head against his hand again. He wasn’t sick, dammit. He didn’t know what was wrong - at least, he didn’t know YET what was wrong - but it wasn’t something so simply explained away. Best to let his brother baby him for now, though - he might even get a free burger and some sympathy out of it.


	6. fleeting flame

Ed had all but driven Al crazy over the last week and a half. He paced the length and the breadth of the place, cooked everything he could get his hands on, cleaned, rearranged, scrubbed over half a century’s worth of dust and grime and Al barely had time to think before Ed was bustling through the room again, carrying something else past.

Al put both of his hands on his temples and thought very seriously about trying to kill his brother with his mind. The only thing stopping him was with their brand of luck something as outlandish as that would probably occur and somehow jump-start the next apocalypse so Al just closed his eyes and wished very, very hard for Ed to get narcolepsy.

Maybe it was cabin fever. They had been lying low for a while - the entire place had a thin sheet of iron laced through the concrete so that it was off the grid where pretty much anything mystical was concerned. No wayward demons, angels, anyone. It also had pretty lousy cell reception, so they were more or less isolated.

And Ed had given up on research on day two and started actually cleaning. Al had found him fiddling with the electronics in what Ed had dubbed the “command room”, the area that had transistor radios and other forms of communication that would have been hi-tech well over sixty years ago. Today though, they were museum relics. 

It was really fascinating the change that had come over his brother. He had vanished while Al was in the shower (this place had amazing water pressure, for being off the grid) and had turned up two and a half hours later with the back seat of the Impala full of groceries. 

Al didn’t know if ‘nesting’ was the proper term at all. Maybe it was ‘housewife.’

Al groaned loudly and laid his forehead down on the table. The library here was extensive, full of books that he had only seen snippets of online - and several hundred years worth of handwritten codexes, journals and loose notes. He may be skilled in research jargon, but his ability to read faded handwriting on yellowed parchment paper was not exactly top of his game.

Ed stopped bustling through the library, his arm full of swords. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, and Al raised his head, and blinked.

"Ed, where did you get those?"

"I found the armory. It was that locked metal door, the keys were in the command center." He nodded at his arm full of sheathed weapons. "They haven’t been cleaned or oiled in half a century! Got to keep up weapons maintenance."

"There is nothing that you are going to kill with a claymore that you can’t kill with a shotgun shell," Al said dryly, and Ed sniffed haughtily at him. 

"You never know what’s in here," he said. "Why are you so testy, didn’t you eat the lunch I made?"

Al rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “These notes are in some pidgin of French and English; I can derive context but there’s a lot I’m missing. It’s frustrating.”

Ed nodded his head thoughtfully. “Roy speaks French.”

Al raised a cautious eyebrow. “Are we on speaking terms with Mustang again?”

Ed lifted his hand to wave it and dropped two swords. He swore and scooped them up in his arms, then dropped them on the long wooden study table with a sigh. “Somewhat. Kinda? I guess I’d have to talk to him to find out.”

He was about to fish out his cell phone when Al put his hand out. “Cell phone reception’s lousy in here, remember? Rian had to try five times before he even got the phone to ring. Why don’t you just go see him in person?”

His brother frowned, considering. “I don’t know, Al…”

"For god’s sake, I can watch this place on my own," Al said. "I am a capable adult and if I have to watch you scrub anything else out of boredom I may have to shoot you."

Ed pointed to the swords. “Can I take these with me?”

"No."

The swords clattered as Ed sorted through them. “I’m taking the claymore.”

"You are not taking the claymore. That won’t even fit in the trunk."

Ed opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. “Damn it, you’re right. Fine. I’m taking the machete though.”

Al rolled his eyes. “Take the machete, I don’t really care. Just don’t use it on Mustang.”

"You spoil all my fun," Ed grumbled. "I’ll be back in two days, max. Let me grab my duffel and I’ll be out of your hair."

Al watched his brother scurry across the room, the sheathed machete in one hand, to his bedroom. Al breathed a huge sigh of relief - that went better than anticipated - and then looked at the assorted weapons Ed left on the table. “Finally,” he murmured, shoving the swords further down the table. “Some peace and quiet.”


	7. betrayal

Ed sat in the Impala, both hands on the steering wheel. He had turned the car off, mainly to save gas while he dicked about being indecisive. It was in those twilight hours as street lights flickered on and the last vestiges of daylight crept off beyond the horizon. The chill of winter still clung to the air, but it was not as potent as it had been in weeks past – the hint of spring had started, even if its only visible trace currently was the slightly longer days.

He had taken the longest possible course to get here, and yet here he was. Ed drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thought about getting out of the car, and then slumped back in the seat and sighed deeply.

Life was just complicated, that was all there was to it. After everything he had seen, after everything he had been through, even the thought of this gave him pause. Relationships were a hard thing to maintain, they were actively discouraged in this business and for good reason. If Ed wasn’t who he was, he would have been dead so many times over it didn’t even bear thinking about it.

Before he had walked away from so many relationships. They hadn’t even really been relationships in that sense – a week or two at most, more like one-night stands or the occasional weekend fling. He had never really bothered to get to know people, because there was always the next job.

But then there was Winry, whose path crossed with his. She was in the same business, and held no illusions about the life they lived. They had clicked, on a superficial level and maybe a little bit deeper than that. Maybe it had just started out as sex, but soon it had moved on to something a little bit more than that.

Then he went to hell, literally, and when he came back from that he couldn’t just look her up and act like nothing had happened. Everything had changed, everything – and Roy walked back into his life then.

Roy, who he could turn to when his own brother was acting hinky. Roy who he could trust, with all of this – the angels, the demons, his own nightmares and tortured mind. It was Roy who held him through the night when his nightmares pulled him screaming awake, it was Roy who had his back and comforted him.

When they had sealed Lucifer in the pit, it was Winry who provided a stable life for him, and Roy who kept him sane. They were a binary set, something for him to orbit around and keep himself focused. They were so tight, how did they fall so far apart?

Because relationships like theirs were nice things, and if there was one thing that the universe had proved as a constant, it was that Elrics were simply not allowed to have nice things.

And so things had fallen apart. Leviathans and Purgatory and now, dealing with prophets and Gates and so many things it made Ed’s head spin. Winry had punched him, the last time he saw her. And Roy….

Ed groaned, and set his forehead on his hands. Maybe it was a mistake to come here, to try this again. Roy had slammed the door in his face, would not open it again and Ed had had to back down, he had to walk away. It drove another crack through his already fragile heart, but they just did not have the time to deal with it before. Now … now on the half-baked, nearly invented premise the get Ed out of Al’s hair for a few days he had driven halfway across the country only to sit out on the street as dusk fell and bang his head into the steering wheel a few times.

“Give me vengeful spirits, fucking stank-ass ghouls, hell I’ll even take demons,” Ed groaned into his hands. “I don’t want to do this.”

A light came on in the house and that caught his attention. Ed looked up, stared at the small home that housed one of their few allies, and sighed deeply. Eventually someone was going to see a creepy man in a classic muscle car just sitting in the street talking to himself and would call the cops, so it was now or never.

Ed didn’t bother with the doorbell, and just knocked on the door. There was a long bout of silence – Ed still did not see any cameras, but he figured Roy checked out one of windows – and the door opened.

Roy Mustang in the doorway, looking just as Ed remembered him. Not drunk off his ass like the last time, but clean-shaven and wearing a fresh change of clothes. Ed stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled at Roy, beaming a little to see him looking better. “Hey,” he said.

“Uh, hi,” Roy said carefully. “What are you doing here, Ed?”

“I need, well, we need your help.” Ed inclined his head back toward the Impala. “You should see this place, Al is up to his eyebrows in books five times his age, and-”

“Roy? Who’s at the door?”

The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, and the words died on Ed’s tongue. Roy glanced back over his shoulder, and then looked back to Ed. “I’m sorry,” Roy said quietly. “You should go.”

“Roy,” Ed said desperately.

“I’m sorry,” Roy said again, and shut the door.

Ed stood on his stoop a long minute, all his words turned to ash in his mouth. He could bang on the door, he could yell, make a scene – wasn’t Roy his, first? - and in the end, all he could do was turn and walk slowly back to the car. He sat in the driver’s seat, numb now, and stared at the light coming through the dining room window, bright even through the drawn curtains.

He was too late.

The words still burned in his throat and he swallowed past them, and stared straight ahead. He was strangely numb – maybe he would be angry later, screaming his rage into the night – or maybe it would just be sorrow drowned in alcohol. His last solace was gone now, just like that – taken from him not by demons, not by leviathans or spirits or angels – but by nothing more than the passage of time.

Ed started the car, and drove off into the night.


	8. awakening

It hurt more than Ed expected, it felt almost like a limb had been severed. He had experienced so many different definitions of pain in his life, he thought that the entire spectrum had been opened to him and then some, but if he had considered that to be his truth he was surprised to learn how deeply he was wrong. 

What was worse what that it was a dull pain, it throbbed and reminded him, constantly, of the wound. Ed sat at the dingy bar a hundred and fifty miles away, his head in one hand and an empty glass in front of him. It was a noisy bar, an enthusiastic place despite its decoration, full of college kids laughing and having a good time. On any other night he would sit back and enjoy the show, observing the eternal peacock prance and general preening as people observed their potential mates - but tonight his eyes were only on the scuffed bar top.

He had turned off his phone, first off. The last thing he wanted to hear right now was from Al - it didn’t matter if Al found what they needed, he just couldn’t face up to telling him. Truth was, Ed wasn’t even entirely sure what he would be facing up to … but if Mustang got out of this business, that was bully for him. They had averted the Apocalypse (capital ‘A’, although Ed now had cause to wonder if there was a plural form of apocalypse and whether he should learn it); and while their newest endeavor would benefit the world at large, it was not nearly as pressing a concern for even the other hunters out there.

A woman’s voice. Ed shook his head, trying to shut it out of his memory. Roy never took women home, never - his home was his sanctuary, but not a playground. It shook him, quite a bit, to even contemplate. Of course Mustang would move on, he had to - Al would have told him, and there was no indication that Ed had even survived, that time. 

And yet.

It hurt, so much. 

Ed sighed and tapped his fingers on the bar. That safety net that kept him sane when Al was going Dark Side on him had shattered - even Cas was gone, now - he was back to nothing left. Maybe it was better this way, better to be solo - or better to be with his brother, the last two of their kind. 

At least he still had Al. 

For now.

_(Bottoms up tonight, I drink to you and I  
'cause with the morning comes the rest of my life  
And with this empty glass, I will break the past  
'cause with the morning I can open my eyes  
I want this to be my awakening)_


	9. jumbled truths

Al turned off the faucet in the bathroom, and with he running water cut off he could hear Ed’s voice echoing through the pipes. He was singing - badly, off-key - in the shower, the melody long since lost and being too far away for Al to even hopelessly guess at what song he was currently mangling. Al loved his brother, he really did, but Ed couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Ed had come back late the previous night, looking bone weary and as if he had aged a couple of years in the week or so since Al had seen him. There was a fresh scrape on his jaw and he seemed pleased with himself - “found a hunt,” Ed had explained cheerfully. “We might want to avoid Little Rock for a while.”

No mention of Mustang. Al brushed his teeth, one hand on the old sink, and tried not to frown. Ed had not mentioned Mustang’s name once - just rambled about the hunt he had wandered off on, talked about some excellent burgers he had there, and then proceeded to call Al a couple of different names before falling face-first on his bed and passing out. Al had been going to sleep late and getting up early, trying to maximize the amount of time spent studying. There was so much knowledge locked in the archives here, and it was easy to lose hours just browsing, never mind pulling books and reading. When he finally went to go check on Ed, Ed was dead to the world asleep, a pillow crushed to his chest and still wearing his combat boots. Al sighed, pulled Ed’s boots off and threw a blanket over his older brother, before going to get a sandwich from the kitchen.

It really wasn’t his place to get involved. They both knew the risks of even attempting relationships when their lives were a giant fucking mess, and that was even before you took into account angels, demons, and trying to conjugate the plural of Apocalypse But all the same Al was worried. Ed was terrific at damping down his emotions and burying them in the hope that he would not have to deal with the eventual blowout (and they always, always did). Al had even tried to call Mustang on his brother’s behalf and the telephone number had been disconnected. That was never a good sign.

Ed came bouncing out of the showers, humming merrily, a towel around him and wrapped around his hair. Al paused to watch him flounce by, and then Ed doubled back, sticking his head into the room. “Eggs for breakfast?” Ed asked. “We have eggs. The eggs aren’t bad. Eggs and bacon! Maybe ham, is there still ham in the fridge?” Without waiting for Al’s response Ed disappeared down the hall to his own bedroom.

Al stood there with the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, slightly disconcerted. Ed only ever seemed this lighthearted after he had gotten some long-overdue action.”Have you heard from Rian?” Ed called through the closed door, loud enough for Al to hear even now. “Any progress on the translation?”

"None yet," Alphonse rinsed his toothbrush and hesitated a moment before he put it away. "Hey, Ed?"

"Hm?" The door to Ed’s room opened and he was mostly dressed - his hair was wet and hanging limply against his face, the ends brushing his shoulders. Al wasn’t used to Ed with longer hair, even now - and Ed pulled his hair back deftly into a small, spiky ponytail at the base of his neck. "What is it?"

"Let’s - " Let’s go talk to Mustang together, I don’t want you sad, brother, this isn’t right. "Let’s go see Winry soon, okay?"

Ed gave Al a strange look, and shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat,” he said. “Breakfast. Bacon or ham? Or both? Because I can handle both.”

"Ham," Al said, and Ed rolled his eyes. "Fiiiiiine. Just ham, then."


	10. anything helps

With a defeated groan, Ed slumped over the open book. “I’m done in,” he announced. “I can’t take it any more. Bury me in books, let my headstone read requiescant in libro.” 

Al did not even look up at his elder brother’s theatrics. “You’re not getting a headstone, I’m burning your body.” 

"Thanks, Al, that cheered me right up." Ed refused to raise his head. "Have you had any luck?" 

"Not really." Al flipped a few pages in the book and sighed, resting his chin in his hand. "I am so done with ancient Japanese spirits. I can’t even read Japanese." 

Intrigued, Ed looked at the book Al had open before him. “Were you trying?” 

"No, it’s just a translation. But get this," he tapped the book. "According to popular lore, the sword is the soul of the samurai. And, conveniently enough, each of our victims had just recently purchased an authenticated Japanese sword from auction." 

"Same sword, or different swords?" Ed asked, attention finally piqued. 

"Same sword," Al affirmed. "It keeps going back to the auction house when the buyers can’t pay up because of a terminal case of exsanguination." 

"Huh," Ed said. "And you didn’t think to mention this little fact before we sat in the fucking library for three hours?" 

"Seemed way too easy," Al said. "Anytime a case seems that easy, the rug gets pulled out from under us, because of something simple that we overlooked. And since I don’t know Japanese, and I know YOU don’t know Japanese, I figured a small bit of research was in order." He sat back in his chair and smirked at Ed. "At any rate, I figured you would rather sulk about spending the day in the library, rather than phone up Kenshin and ask for his assistance again."


	11. my best friend

"Rise and shine," Ed called cheerfully, yanking the blinds open. Al grunted and turned his face away from the light, pulling the too-short comforter up over his head to block out the sun’s rays. "It’s a gorgeous, sunny Saturday morning! What are you still doing in bed?" 

Al had a death grip on the sheets while he contemplated his options. Ed was far too perky for the daylight hours, the odds that he had been replaced by some sort of adult changeling seemed high. His death grip was rewarded when Ed yanked at the bottom of the comforter and tried to wheedle Al out of bed. “Come on, if you want to sleep that much you can catch a few winks in the car.” 

Or maybe Ed was just over-caffeinated. That had happened before. 

Al finally emerged from the end of the comforter and glared blearily at his brother, who was in the process of shoving all his assorted belongings into his military-issue duffel bag. He watched Ed for a few long moments, and then glanced at the clock, as the realization dawned on him. “We’re skipping town, aren’t we.” 

"The card we used to check in has been compromised." Ed still sounded cheerful. "The check-in office doesn’t open for an hour, it’s better to clear out before someone comes after us with a baseball bat again." 

Al sat up and ran a hand through his sleep-spiked hair. “We have got to find a better resource than credit card scams,” he said, and caught his own half-empty duffel when Ed winged it at him. 

"Less talky, more packy." 

He smiled despite himself; it was welcome - if slightly unsettling - to see his brother in such good humor. “Have you even slept, Ed?” 

"Not a wink," Ed said, and grinned.


	12. on my way home

Things had changed so drastically in just a year. Al kept glancing up at his brother, who was humming merrily in just the next room over. The smell of grilling meat permuted the air, and despite his fatigue Al’s stomach gave off a happy rumble at the thought of the oncoming meal. 

Ed had managed to lose two of the three pillars that supported him, and in a worse way than through death. When they lost a friend or a loved one to Death it was always a blow, but there was a finality there. Here - Winry was still a part of their lives, albeit tangentially. Roy had excused himself entirely. 

And Ed? Ed was a cheery ball of fluff, keeping himself busy with the upkeep of the lair and keeping a weather eye on Al to make sure he didn’t exhaust himself too much. It was by far the worst case of denial Al had ever seen his brother go through, and when the fallout struck it was going to be epic. 

Ed stuck his head in the library. “Are you hungry? I made like, six burgers so you better be hungry because I am NOT eating them all myself.” 

Al smiled wearily and Ed took this for an affirmation and disappeared off, humming the strains of a Black Sabbath song cheerfully. Al looked at the laptop open in front of him and thought hard on what he was about to do, then stood. 

"Brother, I’m going to step outside for a moment, get some fresh air before dinner," he called down the hall from the library to the mess. Ed popped his head out the door and frowned at Al. 

"Don’t go far," he warned, and Al smiled. 

"I’m fine, brother. I’ll be back in a bit."


	13. hollow tree

"I don’t like it," Ed said, his shotgun held in a death-grip. Despite the warmer temperature he looked pale to Al, who hesitated on the crest of the hill. "I don’t like it, we should go back." 

"Go back?" Al snorted in disbelief, before he realized that his brother was serious. “Ed, we’ve been walking for hours, why on earth would you want to go back NOW-“ 

Ed put his back to a very large, old tree and looked around. “Can’t you feel it? There’s something very wrong here. We’ve walked into something.” 

The woods were not entirely silent - there was the whisper of wind through the leaves, the calling of birds on the wing and the background buzz of insect life. Al sighed and glanced back at his brother, who was still looking around the clearing intently. 

Ed had - not quite a fear, but definitely an intense desire to never again get mixed up with the Unseelie court. The fair folk seemed to enjoy teasing the eldest Elric brother, and he had developed a very intense paranoia and dislike for all things fae as a result. 

"I don’t sense anything," Al said, and looked around again. That was when he noticed the mushrooms, growing through the foliage and loam at somewhat even intervals. They were scattered in a sparse arc, and suddenly he had a fairly bad feeling about it. "Uh, Ed," Al said, walking along the line of mushrooms and following the large circle. "I don’t want you to panic, or anything, but I think we found a fairy ring." 

"FUCK." 

"That’s just old superstitious lore," Al said, trying to calm his brother. "Look, I can step right out of the ring." He did so, and abruptly Ed vanished from view. 

"Oh," Al said simply. "Fuck."


	14. the seams

Winry Rockbell had not quite given up hunting, not quite retired from it but she was taking a hiatus. It seemed much wiser to be further away from the Elrics, as everything that they got into seemed intent on killing everyone around them. There was a low-level guilt that buzzed in her mind over this - didn’t Ed need her, need her stability? But she had to look after herself first. 

So she worked in the roadhouse; teased the hunters that came in, transmitted leads to them to track down, and occasionally tinkered on the handful of old cars they kept behind the shop. It kept her busy, and it kept her from thinking too hard on everything that was going on in the world. 

That is, until the day that Ed walked through her door again. 

It wasn’t the first time that she had seen him since he vanished, but it was the first time that he had dared to come alone. His hair was scruffy - longer than she remembered him keeping it, tied back in a small spiky ponytail at the base of his skull. He looked exhausted, and not in a way that simply sleep could cure. 

Winry glanced around the bar - it was early afternoon, the place was empty. She sighed and put one hand on the smooth surface of the bar. “What are you doing here, Ed?” 

He stood in the doorway, sunlight sneaking in behind him, collar of his light jacket turned up against his neck. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, and his voice had that gravel edge it acquired when he hadn’t slept much. Winry felt a little trill in her gut at the memory. “I felt, I just had to come.” He sighed. “I’m sick of the way everyone’s been torn apart.”


	15. it was free

Al heaved a deep sigh, tugging on the cord of the talisman strung around Ed’s neck. “Did it ever occur to you that there might have been a REASON it was free?” 

Ed sat on the ground in front of the bed, Al behind him as he tried to sever the cord. “Shut up, Al.” 

"No, Ed. I’m curious what goes on inside that little brain of yours sometimes." 

"Dude, if some hot chick was handing out necklaces-" 

"-in a city with a rash of people being strangled to death?" 

Ed stopped and scowled, looking down at his legs. “She was hot, all right?” And then, quieter. “She reminded me of Winry.” 

The switchblade was doing absolutely no damage to the leather cord that the small talisman hung from. Al closed the knife and sat back, thinking hard. “There’s got to be something else that connects all the deaths, because if you’re right and she’s giving out that many of these things, there would be a whole lot more people dead right now.” 

Ed slid two fingers inside the cord and tugged at it. It moved fine, it wasn’t adhered to his skin by any measure - it just seemed that no power on this earth could break the leather cord, and if he tried to lift it above his head it suddenly would not move. “This thing’s making me nervous, man. Like a Damocles’ noose.” 

"Well it’s your own damn fault," Al said with little sympathy. He stood, shoving Ed’s head as he did so, and moved to sit back at the tiny table that he had turned into a desk. "I’ll do some research here - there’s got to be something out there on the symbol on the talisman." He had scribbled it on a napkin for reference.


	16. checkout line

Ed held the bottle up to the light, the clear liquid sloshing around inside. “Are you sure this is what we need?” He had only asked this question about seven times in the course of the queue, and Al was clearly getting tired of answering. 

"Yes, brother," Al’s voice was a little tinny through the cell phone. "The recipe was very specific, it called for a particular brand due to the active ingredients." 

Ed shuffled the phone to his other ear as he made it up to the belt, dropping the six-pack of beer and the tiny vial onto the conveyor belt. “I dunno, it still seems too easy,” he muttered, staring at the tabloid headlines and trying to ignore the people around him. He glanced to the other side and looked at the candy, and thought mournfully about the baked goods section. However, if he went to fetch anything else he would lose his position in line, in the single open checkout lane at two a.m. on a bloody fucking Tuesday. “Especially using some random fucking brand of eye drops?” 

"Not just the eye drops," Al said. 

"Well the eye drops are the only portion I can buy at a fucking warehouse store at three in the morning," Ed muttered. "It’s shouldn’t be this hard to deal with dead dogs, Al, I’m telling you something stinks here." 

Al made an affirmative noise. “I have an idea,” he said, and Ed could hear the clicking of his laptop through the phone. “Are you headed back here after this?” 

"Yeah, well I might stop for some sliders. You want any?" 

"Greasy burgers at three a.m., Ed, please remember I share the room with you?" Al huffed a sigh and the typing ceased. "Look, I’ll see you when you get back, okay?"


	17. magic

"NOPE." Ed’s voice echoed off the tile of the bathroom. Al sighed, scratched a hand through his hair, and knocked on the bathroom door again. 

"Come on, Ed, it’s not that bad," he tried. 

"Not that BAD?" There was a scrabbling on the other side of the door, and Ed yanked the bathroom door open. Still shirtless. 

Al immediately looked away, blushing hard. “Not that BAD!?” Ed shrieked. “I’M A FUCKING CHICK!” 

"For fuck’s sake, put a shirt on!" Al said, finding the other wall far more fascinating and less traumatically scarring. "It probably won’t last, Ed, remember the last time you got hexed? We got that sorted out easily enough." 

"If you tell Winry about this I will kill you," Ed said, finally acquiescing to Al’s discomfort and pulling on a tee shirt that was now too loose in some respects, and far too tight in others.

Al had to weigh up the possibilities in his mind that his elder sibling was serious, decided that it really wasn’t worth the risk. At least not until he got a quote from Roy about how much cash he could pony up to get some pictures or video of this historic event. 

Ed threw himself (herself? God, pronouns were going to be a pain for the next however long until they sorted this out) across the bed and sulked loudly. “Why does this shit always happen to ME?” 

"Gee, I dunno," Al said, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Maybe if you’d stop provoking the faeries, they wouldn’t be so inclined to teach you a lesson?" 

"I didn’t even DO anything this time," Ed complained. "I know better. I didn’t call anybody names, I didn’t swear on anything I shouldn’t’ve, I didn’t even EAT anything this time." Ed groaned. "I hate faeries."


	18. unusual name

"So this alchemy thing," Al said, and Ed groaned. They had been sitting at the long table in the main room, which Ed had disdainfully dubbed the library, Al with his laptop open and several books piled around him and Ed with an empty plate that had just recently held a burger. “Have you messed with it at all, since you came back?” 

"Nah," Ed licked the crumbs off his fingers. "Too many other things to deal with, hadn’t really thought about it. Why?" 

His brother was silent for a long moment. Probably lost in his research again, there was a long and involved love story between Al and his battered old laptop. 

For once, Ed was even telling the truth about it. The strange ability that he had acquired hadn’t passed through his mind once in the past few months - especially after realizing, when trapped in Purgatory, that it simply did not work there. He figured it had been gone for good and promptly forgot about it.

"Well I was doing some research about, well," Al looked up, and then looked around meaningfully. Ed caught the look and nodded his head. 

"Yeah, and? What does that have to do with my freaky magic ability that everyone likes to pretend doesn’t exist?" 

"Well, uh, Dad’s name came up." Al tapped a book. 

Ed cocked his head curiously. “So? Dad’s name comes up often, he was everyfuckingwhere for a while.” 

"Ed, Dad’s name came up in the founding records." 

He processed this for a moment. “So, wait, this organization isn’t as old and hoary as we thought?” 

"Quite the opposite," Al sighed. "The founding records are almost three hundred years old." 

"Oh, hell," Ed groaned. "What are the odds that it’s just someone with the same admittedly-esoteric-sounding name?" 

"Not good."


	19. wooden stairs

They spent a lot more time together now, Ed realized, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the faint strains of music coming from the car’s radio. There was a span of time where, hell, they just didn’t trust each other like they used to, and as a result Ed spent more time sleeping on Mustang’s couch (and in his bed) than on the road, doing the things that he did best. 

But things seemed different, now - better, almost. It was a relief and at the same time Ed could not just relax, if he relaxed that was when things got shot to shit in a heartbeat. So he kept alert, even now, waiting on his brother to emerge from the diner with their dinner. 

Even if things were bad on other fronts (hey, at least Winry was talking to him now! And not leading with her fist! That counted as progress, right?) he and Al were back to being a team, and really in the grand scheme of things, that was all that mattered, right? 

Right? 

Ed sighed, and watched the exit to the diner, ignoring his stomach’s pathetic rumble and hoping for once in his goddamned life Al would remember the pie. He was in the midst of making a silent bet with himself that Al would trip going down the rickety old stairs that led to the door just like he had tripped going up when the door banged open and several people streamed out, chattering merrily. 

Ed watched them mill about the parking lot, and for a brief moment envied them their ignorant lives. No angels, no demons, no existential crises - just mundane, regular lives. 

He smirked and returned his attention to the door. He wouldn’t trade this life for anything.


	20. on the table

"You are so full of shit," Winry said, as Ed rolled the car into park. "We are in the middle of nowhere. Are you two squatting in an abandoned hovel again, because I am not peeing in a bucket-" 

"Jeez, Winry, relax," Ed said. "Would I lie to you?” 

"In a heartbeat." 

Ed rolled his eyes and sighed. “Okay, maybe that was the wrong thing to ask, but I’m not lying to you, I swear.” He opened the door and swung his legs out, stretching as he exited the vehicle. Winry watched him suspiciously as he popped the trunk and pulled out his duffel, slinging the strap over his head. “You coming, or what?” 

Truth was, Ed did not like leaving Al alone in the lair. Al had been acting stranger and stranger, and with Rian AWOL and most of their allies out of contact, he had had to reach out to someone to help keep an eye on things. 

There were very few people the Elrics would trust with a secret of this magnitude - and Winry was right at the top of that list. 

There were clumps of dead leaves still pushed against the insides of the stairs that led down to the heavy old iron door. Winry stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest because despite the warm spring day, it was chilly in the shade. “You’re joking,” she said, as Ed unlocked the door. 

He held the door open and bowed. “After you, princess.” 

"You’re not joking, you’re just fucked in the head," Winry said, and walked through the door. "Is Al really in here?" 

"Probably sleeping on his laptop in the library," Ed said, pulling the heavy door shut behind them both and locking it. "AL! We’re home, wake up!"


	21. game changer

Al sat with his chin on the table, a scowl settled deep on his features. If he had had the wherewithal to hunt down wherever it was Ed had decided to stash his laptop he WOULD - he just did not want to prove Ed right by standing up and then having a dizzy spell. 

He jumped a mile when Winry settled her hand on his forehead. “You are burning UP,” she said, and covered him with a blanket. “Does Ed know you have a fever?” 

"I don’t have a fever," Al muttered. "I feel fine." 

"You’re a worse liar than your brother is," Winry took a step back, and looked down the long table. So many of the chairs were still dusty, unused by either brother. "Why are you so sick? What isn’t Ed telling me about?" 

Al closed his eyes, grateful that Ed didn’t spill the beans on everything that was currently going on. “Nothing, I’m just - maybe I caught some sort of ancient crud from the books.” Hell, this lie even sounded flimsy to HIM. Mei would have beat him half to death with his own laptop by now. He sighed deeply and tried not to think about how long it had been since he had heard her voice. 

"Right." Winry was even less impressed. "Ancient crud from the books. Whatever, you boys can keep your world-ending secrets, I’m just here to make sure that you don’t cough up blood and die choking on phlegm while Ed is gallivanting around doing… whatever the fuck it is HE is doing." She shook her head. "Someone needs to remind me why I took this job when both of you have this stupid, strong silent suffering MAN thing going on. It’s not cute when either of you do it."


	22. decay

The control room was ancient, still full of cobwebs and filth, abandoned coffee mugs and left-behind notepads. You had to pass through the control room to get to everywhere else, and Winry could tell by the tracks in the inches of dust that, aside from one or two cursory glances, the boys had all but ignored the room. 

Which was to be expected, in these days of wireless internet the huge ancient machines were more or less useless. It did not mean that the ancient radios and older tech needed to moulder in obscurity. 

"I wasn’t brought here to play maid," Winry muttered to herself, but her curiosity had been awakened. If there was one thing she particularly liked to do, it was take things apart - and tech like this? She’d never had occasion to even LOOK at before. 

Besides, the room WAS filthy, and they were tracking dirt and crap into the much more habitable parts of the batcave. (Leave it to Ed to name this place.) It couldn’t hurt to do a LITTLE cleaning - she could reward herself by taking apart what looked like to be a proto-computer that took up most of the far wall. 

And that was how Ed found her, hours later, standing on a table with parts scattered all around her and a cloud of dust and dirt in the air. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, startling her enough that she knocked a few bolts and bits down off the table. 

Winry wiped her hand across her face. “Uh,” she said. “Cleaning?” 

"Cleaning, right," Ed said. He didn’t look surprised nor impressed, in fact he looked like he had just woken up. "Maybe you should get cleaned up, we’re going soon." 

"Going? Going where?" 

"Just get cleaned up, okay?"


	23. since when

It felt warm and right, curled up next to a warm body again. It had been so long, he couldn’t remember - he missed the warmth, the smell of another person beside him. Drowsy, Ed sighed contentedly and squirmed in closer, throwing his arm over the body next to his. 

"Mm, Roy," Ed muttered, still not quite awake yet. 

The world went topsy-turvy as Ed got rolled out of bed when the other person - not Roy, he realized as he woke up halfway to impact - flailed themselves completely out of bed and back against the other wall. 

"WHAT," Al said, his voice strangled and several pitches higher than usual. "ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED!?" 

Ed landed hard, on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He blinked away stars and stared at the ceiling, highlighted slightly by the wan light that crept in under the closed door. He heard Al flail around more, and then there was light, but no less confusion. 

At least, until Winry slammed open the bedroom door, a twelve-gauge in her hands and her dressing gown flapping out behind her like some sort of superhero’s cape. “What’s going on? Are we under attack?” 

Ed let his head drop back against the tile floor and covered his eyes with a groan. NOW he remembered - while there were other rooms to occupy, no one had thought to clean one out yet so in the meantime Winry was sleeping in Ed’s room and Ed was sharing Al’s somewhat larger bed frame. “Oh god,” he said. “Someone kill me now.” 

"I was thirty seconds away from getting a good morning grope," Al could not possibly sound more offended if he tried. 

Winry rolled her eyes and sighed, relaxing her posture. “Welcome to my world, Al.”


	24. and exhale

"Have you heard from Roy?" Al asked, chasing a sausage link around his plate with a fork, while Winry cleaned up after Ed’s explosion of breakfast genius. They could hear the showers running anywhere in the batcave, the pipes were ancient and creaky and they had some time to discuss before Ed was out of there. 

Winry hesitated, and then dumped more dishes in the sink. “No,” she said, and put her hands on the edge of the old fixture. “He and I were never as close as Ed was.” 

"That’s an understatement," Al said, finally spearing the link. "It’s just - Ed gets really evasive whenever I bring him up, and the time we tried to see him, Roy was really bad off." 

"It’s probably better for him that we’re out of his life," Winry said. 

"No doubt." Al chewed thoughtfully. "But, Ed." 

Without even having to explain, his words spoke volumes. Winry turned the water on, and Al wondered if that would mess with the water pressure in the showers. “That idiot is in love with Mustang,” Winry said, and there was hurt in her voice. “He loved Mustang far more than he ever loved me.” 

"He still loves you," Al murmured. 

"I don’t like being settled for," Winry said. "It was simpler when it was the three of us - strange, I know, but then I didn’t feel like the consolation prize." She lapsed into silence, the plates and flatware clinking together as she ran the water over them. 

Al stared down at his plate - the exhaustion pulled at his eyes and thrummed, deep in his veins but he could ignore it. “I need to talk to Roy,” Al said finally. “If he’s done with us, that’s fine, but I need to hear it from him.”


	25. boundless

It was Ed’s fault (really, it usually was, no one ran smack into danger more with less of a plan than he) but they both laughed, Ed on his ass in the dirt, scorch marks on the sleeves of of his jacket and soot in his hair. He laughed hard and freely, head back and eyes closed and Roy just grinned, watching his merriment. 

"Shoulda known there was a gas leak," Ed gasped, wiping tears of mirth from his face and smearing the dirt and soot in the process. 

"I told you I smelled something funny," Roy leaned back against the car, still smiling. 

"Yeah, I thought you meant- yah, never mind what I thought you meant." Ed sat forward, and then heaved himself to his feet. "We should get going, that was one hell of a fireball, I’m surprised no one has called the cops yet." 

As he spoke, the first faint traces of sirens could be heard carrying through the trees. 

"Definitely our cue to exit," Roy slung his rifle into the back seat of the car and opened the driver’s side door. 

Ed shoved him aside and glared. “This is MY car, Mustang. You can drive it when I’m dead.” 

Roy rolled his eyes and trotted around the front of the vehicle, sliding into the passenger side seat as Ed hesitated, looking back at the raging inferno the old abandoned house had become. 

"Oi, Ed," Roy leaned down so he could see Ed’s standing face. "Not getting arrested again: a high priority. Get your ass in the car." 

Surprisingly, Ed actually did as he was told, slamming the drivers’s side door shut and turning the key in the ignition. “You really think this takes care of things?” 

"God, I hope so," Roy muttered, as they drove off.


	26. a minute away

There was something comforting about having a shooting range easily at her disposal. It was cathartic to just put on a set of mufflers, load up a few weapons and empty them into human-shaped targets on the other end of the room. (That may or may not occasionally have pictures taped to the head of a certain blond-haired hunter who was REALLY PISSING HER OFF OKAY.) 

Winry put her weapon down and slid the mufflers off. It seemed silly to wear the protective eyewear - not that the Men of Letters apparently had any in stock - but the mufflers at least kept her from deafening herself in the concrete bunker. 

As much as she hated to admit, this place was amazing. All it really lacked was a proper garage to hide the cars away in (and that she could tinker in, priorities). She couldn’t really express this to Ed, because then he would point out that she essentially mocked him the entire car ride here and she got enough shit for that as it was. She smiled despite herself, and called the target back. 

"Not bad," Al said from the doorway, and Winry jumped a mile. "Nice cluster there in the body." 

She turned and glared at him. “You know, when I say I want some private time, that doesn’t mean follow me everywhere.” 

"Well, when Ed says it it usually means he’s locked himself in the bathroom." Al shrugged. "I was just curious how alike you two were." 

Winry’s glare soured. “That’s gross, Al.” 

"Nah, it’s just funny." He didn’t move. "Hey, did Ed tell you where he was going?" 

Winry removed the clip from her weapon, thought about loading another one and decided against it. “He didn’t say anything, why?” 

"Oh, perfect," Al groaned. "The Impala’s gone."


	27. gushing blood

"I really don’t understand how you have survived this long," Roy muttered, tightening the bandage wrapped around Ed’s head carefully. "It’s a minor miracle you made it to adulthood." 

"Is this not counting the times I’ve died?" Ed asked, and winced. 

"That was rhetorical and I’m pretending that I didn’t hear you say that simply for my own sanity.” Roy cut the white bandage and tied it off. Ed was covered in dirt and his own blood, caked down the side of his face and into his hair. “Caution doesn’t cost you anything, and saves us all plenty in the long run.” 

"I’ve had worse," Ed said, and touched two fingers to his head gingerly. "Way worse. But … thanks, you know. For saving my bacon." 

"The world would be a darker place without you in it," Roy said, and slung the medkit back into the trunk. Ed was immediately thankful for the layer of grime, it masked the sudden flush well. "Have we at least finished here? If there’s still - what were they, monkey-bats?" 

"Hell if I know, tiny things with sharp little teeth." Ed waved his hand in front of his face. "Kids have way too much imagination these days, dreaming up all sorts of nasty shit." 

Roy shook his head. “And Al?” he asked. 

"Hell if I know where that idiot is, he got pissed at me three days ago and bailed. Probably shacked up with Mei again, that’s the first person he runs to whenever we fight." Ed looked down at the gravel road, kicked some with his scuffed boot. "I am glad you showed to bail my ass out, though. I would have been toast." 

Roy smiled. “Anytime,” he said, and ruffled Ed’s hair companionably. Ed ducked his head and scowled, and Roy laughed.


	28. fake it

"Seriously, I’m fine," Al said as Ed fussed around him. It was tiring watching his brother move around the room quickly, but he found most everything tiring these days. "You can leave me alone, I’m not going to turn to dust if you turn your back on me long enough.” 

"Oh great, something else I hadn’t considered." Ed sat, finally, on the edge of the battered motel room mattress. Al had created a nest of blankets in the center of his own mattress, and he glared right back at Ed. 

"I’m fine, brother." 

Ed remained silent, staring at his brother. Al sighed deeply, and glanced at the worn comforter. He was particularly adept at seeing through Ed’s bullshit - was it any surprised the reverse was true as well? The headaches came more frequently now, and he was simply unable to shake the bone-weary fatigue that had gripped him. 

That was of course discounting the blood he had horked up in the shower, but fortunately the sound of the water had masked his fit of coughing. Ed did not need to deal with this, there were other things he needed to worry about. Al would BE fine, even if he didn’t feel particularly fine right this instant.

The problem was trying to convince his overly protective older brother that he was not, in fact, dying of some mysterious angelic malady. 

"I’m worried," Ed said quietly. He glanced back at Ed, and Ed was staring at the floor. "We’ve lost so much, Al - there’s so much work to do, I can’t lose you again. I just - I can’t deal with it. Not again." 

Al smiled, Ed was actually being honest about his feelings for once. “I’m fine,” he said softly. “Please, believe me, Ed. I won’t let you down.”


	29. bottomless

It was probably a dream, Ed realized suddenly as he lounged back in the scratchy old kitchen chair. He hadn’t felt this relaxed and calm in weeks, and he was in Roy’s kitchen. It had been almost a year and the decor was exactly the same: in turns both bachelor and terrible. 

Roy was there too, his back to Ed, wearing a pair of sleeping trousers and nothing else. Ed grinned as his eyes followed the slope of Roy’s back; the way the pants wore low on his hips told him that Mustang wasn’t wearing anything with the sleep trousers, either. 

Empty pizza boxes on the table from last night - Ed leaned forward and flicked up a lid, looking for an elusive leftover slice, despite the fact that he could hear the sizzle and pop of bacon on the burners. Roy was saying something, but what exactly was lost on him. 

It was so peaceful, this dream. Absent the blood and the fire and the damnation, even the dreams not classified as nightmares had a razor-sharp edge of ruin and regret. It had been so long that a calming memory resurfaced in such a manner. 

Ed glanced around again, and saw Winry was leaning in the doorway. She wasn’t wearing a nightie like he thought, but one of Ed’s shirts, two buttons undone to show a generous portion of her decolletage. 

Likely as well this was the only piece of clothing she was wearing, and Ed smirked at the thought of two of his most favorite people to see naked both barely wearing clothes before him. 

Like most pleasant things, this dream wasn’t fated to last. Even in the realm of Dream he wasn’t entirely safe from the unpleasantness of reality and at once Ed opened his eyes, awake.


	30. caterpillar

Ed never did well in the cold - Al could never quite explain this. His brother loved the summer, the heat off of the asphalt and the windows down, humid August air blowing their hair back as the volume of wind in the car made conversation difficult. The problem was, Al was the opposite. He disliked the heat, and the first thing he did in each motel room was crank the a/c up and glare at his brother. 

They had come to an agreement of sorts. Al didn’t touch the radio, Ed didn’t touch the a/c. Didn’t stop him from sulking about the motel room, complaining about the frigid puffs of air the unit belched out amid a high-toned squeal and the occasional chemical smell. 

In the mornings, when left on overnight Al would occasionally wake up to see his brother wrapped not only in the comforter on his bed, but the one stolen from Al’s as well. It wasn’t even that cold in the room, but somewhere along the way Ed had lost his tolerance for temperatures lower than the mid-seventies. 

They didn’t talk about winter, or how Ed would magically keep finding cases in the south, where there was no snow and no threat of it. 

Al also didn’t talk about how this change had presented itself in the last few years. They didn’t talk about a lot of things that they really needed to - but this was a relatively minor thing and aside from being his usual sulky self, it didn’t affect much. Al was done feeling guilty for the decisions his brother made, even on his own behalf. 

That being said, Ed rolled up in two layers of comforters was worthy of a cellphone camera picture texted to Mustang. Let’s see Ed live THAT down.


	31. bread basket

Roy had never know Ed to want to cook, never mind be any good at it. He stood in the kitchen, feeling a little out of place as Ed bustled around him, flour and grease splattered on his old button-down shirt. He had never once offered to cook at Roy’s place - Roy had a full-functioning kitchen, had made them breakfast on more than one occasion but whenever Ed stayed over they usually ordered out Chinese or pizza because there were … other things, that they could be doing. 

Ed scooted Roy out of the way with his foot, reached up to get a pan from the shelf behind him and Roy very casually reached over his head and handed him the one he was stretching for. There was a moment of almost-confrontation - the spark in Ed’s eye was warning enough - but then something rattled on the stove and got his attention and the moment was lost. 

Seriously, Winry was of far more use to him in the kitchen so Roy had no idea what Ed had specifically dragged him in here with him - or at least, he had no idea until Ed took a step back, wiped both hands off across his already-food-splattered shirt and gave off a satisfied sigh. Then he turned, shoved Roy back against the wall, and kissed him. 

"Seriously?" Roy said when he surfaced for air, and Ed pressed his thigh between Roy’s legs. 

"Cooking makes me horny," Ed breathed into his neck, and Roy rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "REALLY horny." 

"Do I have to remind you that sex in the kitchen is terrifically unsanitary?" Roy said, as Ed slid his hands down Roy’s back. "For the food?" 

Ed sighed. “You’re determined to spoil my fun today, aren’t you?”


	32. baubles

Winry ran a flashlight over the shelves of boxes, most labeled meticulously but some, worryingly, were not. The single bare bulb in the ceiling wasn’t enough light for the storage room, and she wasn’t going to drag several loads of mystical crap out into the main library just to have to put it back again. 

Besides, it was dusty and gross and she was sure there were animals nesting behind these things or at least ROACHES. She could deal with dead bodies, but roaches? There was a line. 

"Any luck?" Al called from the doorway, and Winry hissed a breath through clenched teeth. 

"You cleaned every room but this one," she yelled back, and ran the flashlight’s beam over two larger crates stacked between shelves. She didn’t linger, and ignored the fact that it looked like the bottom one moved when the light hit it. "Did your precious notebook not give you a shelf number or anything?" 

"Of course it didn’t, why would the founders make it easy for us to find a relic of dark magicks," Al said from behind her, and Winry jumped. He snapped his own flashlight on, and scattered the beam a different direction. "There is so much STUFF here, holy crap." 

"And I bet most of it is liable to kill you five times before you hit the floor," she said. "This box is covered in devil’s traps." It was matter of fact but still made her skin crawl to look at it. "Think that might be it?" 

"The book said the box was made of obsidian," Al said, two aisles over now. "Didn’t say anything about devil’s traps, but that wouldn’t surprise me. Got to keep it contained." 

"Well, you get over here and look at it, because I am not touching it."


	33. an impossibility

Al rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, the exhaustion weighing him down. The light of his laptop was bright, even with the lamps on the long table down the middle of the room, and made Ed’s face look gaunt in reflection. “You have to be kidding,” Ed said. “Read it again.” 

"I’m not," Rian’s voice came through the laptop full of static, and Al could imagine the tiling in slowed connection. It was a miracle that they got any sort of internet connection at all down here, he wasn’t going to go complaining when the connection went bad. "That’s what it says. We’re screwed." 

"Translate it again," Ed said, dead serious. Winry sighed, beside him, and put her hand on his arm. 

"You’re sure you didn’t miss anything," she said. "The tablet was broken-" 

"Who’s the only one who can read the fucking tablet in the first place," Rian’s voice was angry, but these days he was always angry. He had a valid right to be so, stranded by himself (okay, mostly by himself, no one could consider Russell in any way, shape or form good company) on the other side of the country, hidden under wards and lock and key. "There is no other translation. We’re. Screwed. That’s it, game over." 

"What about the other tablet?" Roy asked, and Al lifted his head, looked at Roy. 

"What other tablet?" Ed said. 

"The … there were three, weren’t there?" Roy looked around at them. "One for heaven, one for hell, and one for truth?" 

"There’s a third tablet," Ed repeated, and looked at Al for confirmation. Al was as surprised as he was - this was the first he had heard. 

The silence stretched out between them, before Rian spoke again. “Who the fuck is that guy?”


	34. june

Rian stomped around the old boat like he had a grudge - Ed couldn’t blame him, just the smell of the fishing boats in the harbor made him ill, he would have gone bugfuck insane after two weeks, nevermind the two months Rian had spent cooped up here, hidden away. 

He didn’t speak, but Ed held his hand out as Rian passed, his tangled black hair spiked outward with lack of combing. The tips brushed the palm of Ed’s hand and he held it at nose level. “You’ve gotten taller.” 

Rian stopped dead and sent a glare at Ed that would send the stripes on a tiger running for cover. “Whoopee-fucking-I don’t-give-a-shit.” 

"Just sayin’," Ed said, and glanced at the pinboards on the walls. There were pages and pages of translations there - or at least he thought they were, they weren’t in any language he read easily. "These in Enochian?" 

Symbols to keep out the angels, painted side by side with those to keep out the demons. These days, that was just common sense, even if Ed was getting the feeling that Rian was about two sleepless nights shy of full-on tinfoil hat mode. 

"You read Enochian now?" Rian hadn’t stopped moving since Ed set foot in the boat. 

"Not really, just recognize it. Plenty useful to know though. You read it?" 

"I dream in it." Rian was scrawling something on a piece of paper in crayon, a tiny nub of a green crayon that was lying on the desk. It was a binding circle, full of familiar lines and it sent a chill up Ed’s spine when Rian held it up and stared at him accusingly. "You know what this is." 

It wasn’t a question. Ed said quietly, “That doesn’t have anything to do with why I’m here.”


	35. in hope

Winry was about to go stir-crazy when the case came in. It came from Russell, of all people … Russell who had stepped in to fill the void in the hunting world that had opened when Bobby had died, Russell who Ed would go to the grave cursing his name and Winry didn’t have the first clue why … something normal, sounded like a standard-issue salt-and-burn. 

Al waved her off, he wasn’t interested in leaving the bunker, and Ed had departed two days earlier with no warning. (“Gone to meet his angel butt-buddy,” Al had grunted, and she swore the frown lines on Mustang’s forehead got deeper.) That left Roy, and … 

Well, Roy. 

They sat in silence in his car, the road stretched before them, Winry staring out the window and Roy staring straight ahead. Their relationship was complicated, even moreso than either had felt comfortable revealing to Ed. They had finally resolved SOMETHING, Ed was the happiest she’d seen him since almost two years ago now and Roy was acting like a human being again, so there was that. She sighed, ran her fingers through her hair and looked down at her cell phone. 

"So it’s just a poltergeist, they think?" Roy’s voice surprised her and she glanced up at him. "Poltergeist activity doesn’t usually require a salt and burn, it’s not often even an actual ghost." 

"Well, it is a spirit-form," Winry said. "Russell didn’t think it was an actual poltergeist though, he thought it tied in to the renovations being done on the local founding church." 

"Ah," Roy said. "Something got disturbed that had been sleeping." 

"Most likely," Winry acknowledged. She looked back down at her phone. "Do you really think Ed is out with the angel?" 

"No," Roy said softly. "I know he’s not."


	36. an orchestra

The road ran before them, stretched to the horizon. Sunlight bounced off of blacktop, heat rising in shimmering waves as cars raced along the unbroken stretch of interstate.

This, more than a windowless bunker tucked away underground, more than a random dirty motel room - more than anything, was his home.

Ed had the windows rolled down, one arm folded over the door, his other hand resting on the steering wheel as he lounged back in his seat. Al had complained about the wind, the noise - Ed ignored him, turned the dial on the radio all the way up and blasted them both with an old mix tape. Out here, in this flatland stretch between cities there was no guarantee they’d pick up a radio station worth a damn, and a gorgeous day like this one demanded only the very best.

Road ahead of them, road behind them. They were headed west, toward the sun - werewolves, Russell had said on the phone - probably. He didn’t like it when Russell was unsure, but the only thing he had was the fact that the victims hearts were getting eaten. Werewolves were suspect number one in that circumstance, especially given that the attacks coincided with the phases of the moon. Ed drummed his fingers on the wheel, in time with the beats of the music, and glanced over at his brother.

Al looked up, caught his eye and scowled - mouthed something (“turn down the music dumbass” - Ed’s lipreading wasn’t that bad) - and Ed pointed to his ear and grinned. “Can’t hear you,” he yelled. “Music’s too loud.”

"You’re a fucking dumbass," Al yelled back, and Ed laughed, relished in the sun and the road and the company, and stomped on the accelerator. They had places to be.


	37. my dear

Ed was sitting comfortably in the driver’s seat of the Impala when Winry Rockbell opened the passenger’s side door and slid right in. Ed did a double-take - he’d been waiting on his brother to finish his business in the convenience mart - and said “-what the HELL-”

"I am so mad at you," Winry said. She looked a little bit torn up, like she’d been on the road for a while and hadn’t had the time to stop and shower and patch up her wounds. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Why are you here?" Ed asked. There was no subtle way to shift to go for his gun, but he did have a knife tucked in his boot. It wasn’t the demon-killing knife, but it was still something.

"I’ve been looking for you for three goddamn weeks," Winry said. "Before you shit a brick, look who brought me." She pointed out the windshield, and sure enough Castiel was standing outside the vehicle, brow furrowed.

"Why is HE here - why are YOU here," Ed couldn’t decide who to get mad at so it seemed like a blanket reaction of everybody was the safest bet. "We left you with Russell, you were going to piece together that Truth tablet so Rian could take a crack at it-"

"Yeah," Winry said in aggravation. "It would help if we didn’t get attacked by fucking demons. I don’t even know if Russell’s alive or dead, but I could only salvage about half of the tablet. They got the rest."

"What," Ed said.

"So while you and your brother have been scooting around playing hero with your cell phones off, shit has hit the fan." She wiped her hand across her brow. "Why HAVE your phones been off, anyway?"

"They’re not off, Winry."


End file.
